Forgotten, not forgiven
by bitter-alisa
Summary: Fenriel Lavellan decides that two years of pain, misery and emptiness are quite enough, and that memories of a heartbreak, however important, are not worth the suffering. It seems, Solas could not have chosen a worse time to ask for help and forgiveness than this.
1. Prologue: Now you must endure

Now the Inquisitor often wanders the snowy woods and mountain paths miles and miles below Skyhold. Their frozen peacefulness calms her, so unlike the familiar warm woods where she grew up, but relaxing and embracing her all the same. The still stark beauty makes Fenriel breathless, she feels so small and insignificant, and yet still an inseparable part of the nature. The eternal wintery slumber of the trees resonates with her, she feels asleep in so many ways, and just like the nature of this cold land, she never expects to wake again. She doesn't feel the cold and the knee-deep snow isn't bothering her as much as it used to, and by now she must have treaded a thousand paths, and she never gets lost. She isn't going anywhere in particular, she doesn't have a goal or purpose; she just cannot make herself be in the castle, surrounded by people she holds so dear.

The remains of the Inquisition, those who have nowhere else to go, they all stay in Skyhold, this is their home now, and Fenriel is glad to accept them. The war was not kind on anyone, and even though the Inquisition had no more formal business, there is still a lot to be fixed. Most of the time running various errands, fixing housing, providing counseling, helping the wounded and the suffering distracts her from her own losses. She revels in the feeling she can still be useful, even as broken as she feels, that there are people to be helped and good to be done in this world.

Cullen has taken over most of her duties now, when she realized that she cannot be trusted to lead anymore, not with the constant and overwhelming sadness that had replaced her fire and sense of purpose. She is grateful for the sake of all her people for Cullen, his enthusiasm and passion not in the last reduced by the hard-fought peace, she is happy that there is someone to lead and help those in need. Not that anyone expected her to remain their fearless and inspiring leader. Everyone knows she had suffered greatly during the war, and everyone knows she deserves some rest and peace. Yet she cannot stand their sympathetic, concerned looks, she can't deal with the pain on the faces of those who lost even more than she did.

At least Solas wasn't dead. For all she knew.

Brief sharp pain strikes her as she merely _thinks_ his name.

Leliana tried to locate him for her, not that she had ever asked for such a favor. Now she doesn't think she would like him to be found, and is vaguely happy that Leliana's people had no success. She knows better than to attempt something Solas doesn't want – she had learned this lesson the hard way. And it was more than clear that he did not want to be found. Leliana hated the fact that she has been unsuccessful at something, and Fenriel is sure the great spymaster wouldn't have given up on the idea of finding him, if not for her appointment as the new Divine. She's happy for Leliana, she truly is, because if there ever was a person deserving of the title, it was her. It hurt Fenriel to see her friend being broken and devastated, to see one of Andraste's most devout lose her faith bit by bit, every little part of what she used to hold as truth being torn away from her. While being the best at her job, the spymaster was clearly the most unhappy person Fenriel has ever known. But now, from the letters she receives every once in a while, it seems that everything in Leliana's world is at peace again.

Even though Leliana's departure meant losing one more friend, Fenriel doesn't hold it against her.

_Everyone deserves to be happy,_ she thinks, and scowls at how bitter it sounds even if not spoken out loud.

Speaking of happiness, even a smallest glace at Cassandra now makes her heart clench with bittersweet joy for her companion and the longing for what she herself will never have. The fearless ruthless warrior now glows with an entirely different light from within, the warm and peaceful shine of love and comfort and motherhood, Varric can make as many crude jokes as he wishes, Fenriel thinks, but Lord Commander and the Seeker deserve every bit of happiness together, after dancing around for so long.

Just as Bull and Dorian do.

And Josephine and Blackwall, they deserve it too, although their dance takes a little bit longer, but it will be all worth it, she is sure of it.

She swore once, for Josephine's sake, to send ravens to Orlais, and find the _other _Bianca, and ever since then Varric's jibes and mockery had been reduced to simple soft jokes when the ambassador wasn't present.

Fenriel smiles to herself, even more bitterly than before, everyone who was with her on the path at restoring the right order to the world has been rewarded by the Creators for their good deeds, it would seem, rewarded with eternal happiness no less. Everyone but her.

The Fade has not been kind on her, and neither have her dreams. She always lacked Solas' ability to travel the Fade and shape it according to her own desires and imagination, she couldn't always distinguish a simple dream from a walk in the Fade, and more often than not there wasn't a need for such distinction. These were always the same things she saw then she closed her eyes. The explosion. The Divine, calling for help. The searing pain of the Anchor. The time that never was, and where everything was lost. The destruction of Haven, the cries of those she could not save. The fall of the Wardens, and the Nightmare that followed. The Well. The battle. Endless, countless battles and cries of the wounded and the suffering, deaths of her friends and soldiers, the whole world engulfed by fire, and it all paled in comparison to the final image, the final stab in the heart – the eyes of her beloved, and her own reflection in them, both filled with sorrow, regret and unspoken words.

Fenriel stops and looks around when she hears light footsteps behind her. She can't see who it is, but she knows it's Cole. He joins her occasionally, probably trying to figure out the way to lessen her pain, he always lets her know that he is there with her, and she always appreciates his courtesy. His efforts in relieving her of her suffering she appreciates those less so, in his somewhat child-like mind he finds what she is asking of him to be the ultimate cruelty; he has become wiser, her little innocent spirit of compassion. He says that memories, however painful they are, makes her what she is, and removing them, deleting Solas from her life as if he had never existed, would be a disservice. Fenriel disagrees and they argue sometimes, but more often than that Cole simply walks with her, keeping to himself and shadows and silence.

She hasn't been to this part of the forest before, she realizes after looking around for Cole. The trees are scarcer and the snow is merely ankle deep, somewhere further away she can hear a faint song of an unknown bird. By the stream she sees the snow starting to melt, and a small white flower, almost indistinguishable from the snow around it, yet proudly raising its head towards the bleak sun.

"The spring is coming, ma vhenan," no more than a whisper, but she hears it more clearly than if it was a thunder in the mountains. "The spring is coming and I have no idea what to do with it."

She would recognize that voice anywhere, and before she would have given anything to hear it again. But these times are long gone, and now she just wants this cruel hallucination to stop, she wishes to wake up or disappear or to never have been born in the first place, just so this cruel memory would leave her poor torn heart alone.

She looks at him and there is no telling if she is dreaming again; he looks even sadder than in her usual dreams, more regretful and full of sorrow. He looks tired as well, so very tired, as if his soul has aged not two, but a thousand years. _Liar, _she makes herself think despite her longing and aching, _liar and traitor, the Dread Wolf take you_.

He looks at her with a mixture of compassion, pity and disappointment, she realizes.

"What?" she asks roughly; if it's a dream, there is no harm to speaking to him, is there? And if it's reality… Well, she believes, Cole would come to her aid if she only called. Even he would agree that killing this son of a bitch would be the true kindness to all involved, she thinks grimly.

"You look tired, is all," he says softly, all worry and compassion, as if nothing has happened, as if it is one of the many times where she would come back from another mission to find comfort in his embrace.

She doesn't look at him again. There was no point in making it any worse than it already is.

"You're not exactly radiant yourself," she shoots back, unable to decide between pained indifference and boiling anger. In a dream, neither would do any good… In reality, they wouldn't change anything with Solas either.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," he sighs, looking down at his feet.

"Good." Fenriel sounds really bitter this time. And angry.

He sighs.

"I am so very sorry," he says and approaches her. She turns away, but he was never one to give up, and she feels his warm slender fingers on her shoulders, touching her ever so softly. If it was meant to relax her, it failed, because instead her body reacts with longing and dull ache, and she wishes she would run away. "I will explain it all to you one day, ma vhenan, I swear it."

"Why must you keep calling me this," she protests weakly as his lips ghost over the tip of her ear.

"Because it is true."

She wakes up with a gasp, her face wet with tears, and she's not sure whether she cred in her dream or after realizing that her own mind tricked her into believing it was real once again.

"You're hurting," comes an alarmed voice and Fenriel sees Cole's silhouette in the dusk of the morning. One day she will have a talk with him about privacy and locked doors, but that day is not today.

"Take it away," she whispers heatedly, "I don't care what happens, just take it all away. Make me forget this, make as if he never happened."

Somewhere far in the mountains, a lone wolf howls.


	2. Chapter 1: Prison for the soul

Thanks to **Amethyst -Guardian- Lycure**, **RynnYuzuki**, **fayriel**, and **Meikhaila** for follows and favorites.  
Special thanks to **Meikhaila** for reviewing. I do so love me some reviews!

Before we continue, I just want to note that I see the Elven Pantheon as very similar to the Norse gods, Fen'harel being an equivalent of Loki etc. Thus the "you are no family of mine" line. Just to be clear.

* * *

Fen'harel wasn't quite sure which part of his punishment was the worst.

Maybe it was the fact that he was trapped in the place he used to hold most dear to him. The Fade, always so welcoming and comforting and full of wonderful gifts of forgotten knowledge, a place that would shape itself to suit his wishes… There was nothing now that would even remotely remind him of the joy and peace it used to bring him. The Fade no longer complied with his whims and wishes, and there was nothing to be discovered save for new mistakes, new pain, new guilt. Even the spirits, his eternal friends and companions, refused to speak to him, effortlessly avoiding his attempts they floated by as if he was an insignificant part of the scenery.

And what a scenery it was.

It was supposed to remind him of his most recent failure, Fen'harel figured, with all the snow that never melted and the mountains surrounding the place, never quite within his reach, like walls to his prison. Naked trees and barren ground with patches of frozen grass scattered here and there, it was a place that would, it seemed, never know spring.

It reminded him of Skyhold. A place where for the first time in centuries the Dread Wolf felt at home.

But it wasn't exactly the place, was it? It was the people he met, the people he befriended, the people he had failed and abandoned.

Or maybe the worst was the complete and most disturbing absence of time that ruled this place? Fen'harel couldn't quite define whether it was intentional or if it has always been like this in the Fade. And his perception of time has always been somewhat different, anyway. He remembered his former fascination with how the mortals perceived time, as if in chunks, some larger, some smaller, passing by unevenly, depending on their own feelings about the events that took place in a given time. He used to find this peculiarity most inconvenient, strange and at times irritating. To him the time always was a flowing river, a continuous stream that passed by uninterrupted and always even. He used to be proud of it too, as it was one more indication of his unquestionable superiority, and he would revel in the feeling.

Now, he found, this appeared to be one more thing he was wrong about. The time flowed endlessly, it washed over him and swallowed him whole, one more of his allies turned against him, and in the moments of weakness he wished he was human, or even dalish, as long as there would be some kind of way to track time.

Not that he had anywhere to hurry now, he reminded himself with a wry smile.

For all he knew, an eternity had passed since he was trapped in here – it sure felt like it – and no one in the land of the living remembered his name. Maybe the world had crumbled under the feet of reborn gods and new civilizations rose in the place of humans, elves and children of stone, maybe everyone he had come to love and care for was long dead.

Maybe Fenriel was long dead too.

Simply thinking her name sent waves of longing through the Fade. Maybe this was the worst, he thought, to long for someone so much without even a hope to ever see her again, to know how he had failed her and broke her, and not have a chance at redemption… Or maybe, the very worst part he had to endure were the demons after all. If he wasn't careful, his feelings would attract Despair and Guilt and Fear to feast upon his pain again, but he was never quite able to stop himself. It was a clever and creative prison, he had to admit, where he was his own worst torturer, but in truth he could not have expected any less from the god of vengeance himself. The demons would never really leave him, at least, not for long, faithfully they would remain by his side, because he could never stop reliving his mistakes over and over again, and sometimes he thought that he didn't even want to.

_Remember. Understand. Repent._

Elgar'nan made sure he would be doing exactly that and nothing else for the rest of the eternity. Not that he hoped for mercy in the first place, he knew what was coming for him when he set off on his quest to restore what he thought would be the balance to the world, when he opened the gates to the Eternal City, when he fell to his knees before those he imprisoned and asked for forgiveness. He had tried to argue and reason, to plead his case, to make them understand that what he did was necessary at the time, but ages of imprisonment, while making the old gods wiser, did nothing to lessen their wrath.

"Some gods you were!" He shouted then in Elgar'nan's face, "warring and bickering, like little children, bringing nothing but chaos and pain to those you were supposed to protect. The world didn't need you anymore. It had to be done. You had to gain wisdom."

"Do not presume yourself wiser than everyone else, Fen'harel, for it is so rarely the case," the all-father's voice carried through both realms, the Fade and mortal world alike, powerful, unrelenting, understanding, but not forgiving. "If it were true, you would not have come now. You would not have freed Mythal first. You know it, and I know it, and all your brothers and sisters know it, too."

"You are no family of mine," Fen'harel whispered then, rebelliously.

"Your pride will be your undoing, child."

"Do not speak to me as if I were an infant, all-father!"

"No. I speak to you as if you were a criminal to be judged and sentenced. Which you are. Tell me, Dread Wolf, how does it feel to be guilty of everything that has ever happened to your people?"

Silence fell then, grave and heavy, because he knew Elgar'nan was right.

"You shall die for this. Your spirit destroyed, along with the soul and body of this you call Solas. An apt name, child, for pride is what you are and what will destroy you."

He said nothing. He expected nothing less. Surely the gods had all the time in the world to think of his punishment if it would have ever come to that. They waited and they hoped, and plotted their vengeance. He was ready to accept his end, maybe not as gracefully as intended, but at least he would know that he has done all he could for his People. He would die with one and only regret, Fen'harel bowed his head, awaiting the final blow, but instead a hand landed on his shoulder.

"You have changed, my friend," Mythal spoke. "You _feel_ now. Regret, guilt, compassion, and what is that? Love?" Her voice seemed soft and kind. "It is, is it not? Love? Fen'harel, tamed and conquered… Never thought I'd live to see the day. By a dalish, no less." Her gentle laughter spread across the realms, and hope to survive all this shone through the darkness just to be trampled into nothingness in a heartbeat.

"If she loves you so, Dread Wolf, would she come to the rescue? Would she beg us for your freedom? Would she defy her own gods just to save you, the traitor, the deceiver, the trickster?"

He wanted to shake his head, but he could never be sure of what she would do, could he? She was always quite the unpredictable one, his Fenriel.

He hardly saw how that mattered, anyway, and that's what he asked Mythal, the goddess of forgiveness and justice.

"Would she trade places with you?" She asked in response, and before Fen'harel could raise his brows in confusion, he was here.

With no powers and no concept of time, only his own worst demons to keep him company.

Fen'harel couldn't tell when exactly did he start to notice subtle changes in his prison. He had walked it all, he knew every nook and cranny, every weak tree and patch of grass, and nothing ever changed. It's just one day he stumbled upon a path which seemed to lead up towards the mountains. Could it be that he had missed it? Could it be that he hadn't notice a way out of his own prison? Honestly, it was absolutely possible. He had been so set on reliving his guilt and failures that he easily would have missed an open door even if it was in front of his face, not to mention a small overgrown path to the mountains. He followed it, not hoping for anything in particular, but rather out of curiosity.

It lead him to a wintery forest, much like the one that lay beneath Skyhold, where he would walk alone to revel in the feeling of unity with the nature, or where Fenriel would join him and completely draw his attention from anything but her. The memory immediately raised an alarm in his mind. Bright as it was, the image of her face in his mind and the longing that followed did not attract any demons. Not even Desire.

And then he heard it.

A distant sound of running water. Chirping of birds. And her voice.

Somewhere out there, within his reach, Fenriel was walking the paths of Skyhold forest and humming absentmindedly, as she would so often do. Could it be? Was he released form his prison? Or was it the spirit of Hope taking pity on him? With his heart beating somewhere in his throat, Fen'harel followed the voice and soon enough he would the small river running down from the mountains, and the snow was beginning to melt around it, and the birds were singing to accompany that familiar dear voice.

She was there, too, his beloved, beautiful and sad as this hope of spring, and he realized he somehow had stepped into her dream. This realization made him want to run, to return to his prison, to roam the snowy wilds alone again as long as he wouldn't cause her any more pain, but the Dread Wolf was nothing if not selfish, and he could not refuse a chance to look at her one more time.

"The spring is coming, ma vhenan," he whispered more to himself than to her, "The spring is coming and I have no idea what to do with it."

She immediately raised her head, like a startled deer, and her song stopped. He cursed himself.

Fenriel didn't look as if she had changed much, Fen'harel noticed, so the odds were that not too much time has passed since he last saw her. As beautiful as ever, her dark hair still sticking in all directions, her skin pale as snow without that damned vallaslin to mar it. Her wolf-like yellow eyes were staring at him with a mixture of fear, disbelief and something he wanted to interpret as longing. She looked tired though, exhausted even, and it was concerning, considering it was her own dream.

"What?" Fenriel finally barked out, displeased with his staring.

""You look tired, da'len," he said carefully and softly, not to spook her.

She didn't look too happy with his comment. Her pretty eyes squinted, as she assessed him with a long intense gaze.

"You're not exactly radiant yourself," She almost snorted, and that brought half a smile to his face. His Fenriel, always so fiery, even in the moment of distress. Besides, he figured, any anger was better than indifference he was fearing.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," he replied. Honestly, he did not sleep at all. Or was sleeping all the time. It depended on how one looked at it, he figured, but it was neither time nor place to explain that to her.

_One more lie, _something resembling his conscious whispered to him.

"Good," the other voice, her voice, said loudly. She sounded bitter.

Fen'harel couldn't think of anything better to say than to apologize.

Fenriel turned away, as if his words caused her physical pain. They probably did, and for a thousandth time he cursed himself for talking to her, for kissing her, for leaving her. Against his own better judgment, he approached her and leaned towards her tense form.

"I will explain it all to you one day, ma vhenan, I swear it." He whispered, his lips barely touching the tip of her ear, stirring unbearable longing and dull ache in him.

"Why must you keep calling me this," the same ache and longing radiated from her, too.

"Because it is true," he replied, and then she vanished.

As did the forest around him. He was back in his plain prison, alone.

Not alone, he corrected himself mentally. Now he had hope.


End file.
